


Stay

by AnnaFaie



Category: Men's Football RPF, RPF - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 07:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFaie/pseuds/AnnaFaie
Summary: Gareth couldn’t even begin to fathom the pressure the younger man was under, but he could see it, every day, slowly chipping away at Harry’s strength, both physical and mental.Set after the game with Switzerland, September 2018.





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction.

Gareth walked into the changing room some half an hour after the rest of the team. The boys seemed upbeat, certainly more so than they were during half-time, when their frustration had been almost palpable. They turned to him, expecting the customary debrief.

“Stretch. Food. Hotel.” He waved Jack’s protest aside. “No, we can talk tomorrow. You all need rest, and I need to think. And...” He smiled tiredly. “Well done.”

They started wandering towards the gym mats, breaking off into their own conversations. Only Harry lingered behind, rubbing his neck uncertainly and looking sheepish.

“Is everything okay?” Gareth asked, striding. “You look shattered.”

“Thanks, boss.” Harry chuckled, but the exhaustion was clear in his face, his glazed eyes, the circles under them. “I...”

He faltered, seemingly lost for words. Harry had never been a talker, something the PR team were trying (and failing) to address. Even so, when he looked up at Gareth, he seemed so helpless that Gareth could only take those few steps separating them and embrace the boy, shielding him from the hubbub of his teammates.

Harry’s body felt hot, too hot, skin damp with sweat as Gareth pressed his lips to Harry’s temple. It was a simple gesture of affection, one he’d given to most of the boys at some point or other. Harry leaned into him and sighed, and Gareth took his weight, letting Harry have this moment of weakness while his teammates were not looking. He knew the bone-deep tiredness that accompanied months of training and games with little rest. The sore muscles, the mental fatigue, the constant barrage of thoughts and game plans running through an exhausted mind. And Harry was only 25, bearing the burden of the hyped-up national team, with a toddler and a newborn at home. Gareth couldn’t even begin to fathom the pressure the younger man was under, but he could see it, every day, slowly chipping away at Harry’s strength, both physical and mental.

Gareth’s hand travelled up the curve of Harry’s spine, comforting, pressing him closer. Harry nuzzled his neck and Gareth felt him smile against his skin. A fierce sense of protectiveness flooded him, a desire to shield and hold and hold together.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly. “I need to go. The lads...”

“Stay.”

It was all Gareth said, and it made Harry pull back, eyes wide. Gareth didn’t quite know how Harry understood what he meant, whether it was the sheer need in his voice or the way he’d held Harry longer and closer than ever before, but he could tell Harry simply...knew. One word was all it took, a moment of shared weakness that unlocked months of growing, desperate desire. The sleepless nights, the dreams, the frustrating gym sessions during which Gareth found himself irritable and distracted, it all came down to this one word, and Harry’s reaction.

Gareth didn’t know why now, of all the other opportunities he’d had. They’d certainly had enough private meetings to discuss their plans for the team, but he never seemed to find an opportune moment. If there even was such a thing, when he was the manager and Harry the captain, and when “don’t screw the crew” was such an integral part of team ethics. He didn’t know why, in that impulsive moment, he let his usually carefully guarded face say it all for him.

Harry nodded slowly. He glanced back at the chattering team, then grasped Gareth’s forearm and pulled around the row of lockers.

Their lips met in a hungry collision of teeth, a desperate kiss that, paradoxically, felt like coming up for air. Gareth body reacted instantaneously, blood rushing downwards, hands digging into the muscles of Harry’s back. He felt Harry arch into him, already half-hard, and suppressed a moan, too conscious of the other boys just twenty feet away. The sense of shame he’d been expecting to feel made no appearance.

“Stay.” He repeated, and he didn’t know why. Maybe he was afraid Harry would pull away, would leave him alone and needing...more. His mind helpfully began replaying the numerous fantasies he’d indulged in over those hot weeks in Russia, of Harry’s long tanned limbs and expertly honed muscles.

Harry nodded again, and he was panting. Gareth leaned into him until their foreheads touched, and it was more intimate than any kiss, this closeness charged with so much promise. The silence was electric, Gareth’s body alight with feeling too much, Harry’s heat, and his hardness, and the smells of sweat and grass and aftershave. He wasn’t sure how long they stood like this, the proximity a living, charged thing between them. He felt giddy, like a teenager after his first drink, and he was ready to bet his yearly wage that he was grinning like a lunatic.

“You need to stretch.” Gareth managed, but it was a half-hearted sort of command. Harry’s eyes were unfocused, their blue depths drawing Gareth in and making him lose the train of his thoughts. Not that they were particularly focused at that precise moment, anyway.

“Yes.” Harry didn’t move, and he was holding onto Gareth’s jacket like a drowning man. His fingers were white as chalk.

“And rest.”

“Yes.”

Gareth could feel the frantic drumming of his heartbeat - or was it Harry’s? He really couldn’t tell. The closeness was making him dizzy, and he closed his eyes, wrapping both arms around Harry’s back. Harry exhaled, hips jerking forward, his length grinding against Gareth’s thigh. Gareth gulped down a mouthful of air, centering himself.

“Harry. Harry. You’re tired. Tomorrow....”

“Shut up. I’ve wanted you for months.”

Gareth’s eyes flew open.

“I’m a clueless idiot, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are, boss.”

And then they were kissing again, and Gareth was being shoved unceremoniously against a locker. Harry seemed to be everywhere, his hands under Gareth’s shirt, nails scraping the skin of his stomach and making him keen quietly, desperate for more contact.

They were interrupted by a loud, pointed cough.

“Well, it’s about fucking time,” Rashford smirked.

Gareth raised his eyebrows. Harry groaned.

“D’you honestly think anyone hadn’t noticed you two slobbering all over each other since Russia?”

Behind Marcus, Butland giggled, which seemed to set Henderson off, too. Dier muttered something about losing a bet as Henderson proceeded to high-five Butland.

“Just shack up in a room as far away from mine as possible,” Marcus shrugged, grabbing tracksuit bottoms. “I’m knackered.”


End file.
